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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24575428">Twenty, Two Ways</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/argylemikewheeler/pseuds/argylemikewheeler'>argylemikewheeler</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Goldfinch (2019), The Goldfinch - Donna Tartt</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Character Study, Cigarette Sharing, Comfort, Dialogue Heavy, Established Relationship, M/M, Short One Shot, Theo's angsty as usual poor guy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 04:33:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,141</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24575428</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/argylemikewheeler/pseuds/argylemikewheeler</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Theo’s emotionally congested (again) and Boris gets him to tall with a split pack of cigarettes. A small slice of life-- and Heaven.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Theodore Decker/Boris Pavlikovsky</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>73</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Twenty, Two Ways</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Theo was laid out on the steps of Hobart &amp; Blackwell. It was dramatic, he knew, but he was in his best jacket and scarf, and had just shined his shoes; no one would think he was in trouble or dead. He was just a weird twenty-something with a lit cigarette in his hand-- and an antique, purple glass astray brought from inside the shop. Theo was on his way through his second pack in less than forty-eight hours. He needed to slow down, but he just couldn’t find it in himself to <em>want</em> to.</p>
<p>He’d been in such a deep, <em>molasses- </em>type feeling for going on two weeks, it felt wrong to stop the one thing he was doing <em>quickly</em>. Theo was actually <em>good</em> at smoking quickly-- at making himself so sick he thought he’d pass out or throw up or do some combination therein. Why stop?</p>
<p>Well, one reason appeared at the end of the block, talking loudly into his cellphone in a slippery combination of English and Russian that Theo was too tired to grab tightly around. Boris hated how Theo’s cigarette’s smelled. He preferred <em>any</em> brand but Theo’s. Hell, he’d asked Theo if he’d start smoking cigars instead.</p>
<p>Theo didn’t, but for a different reason than just refusing to stop his escalating nicotine addiction.</p>
<p>“Okay, okay-- I call you back. Have gotten to meeting now. Have to go. Okay okay... I-- Am hanging up now.” Boris ended his call with a short sigh and tap of his heels on the sidewalk at Theo’s feet.</p>
<p>“Meeting? Is that me?” Theo asked, not sitting up. He tucked his chin down to look at Boris down to his feet. He was dressed well-- impressive but understated, per usual.</p>
<p>“Have to sound like am somewhere they cannot call back.” Boris shrugged. “Very pushing.”</p>
<p>“Pushy.” Theo said, putting his near-filter cigarette between his lips. “And in <em>your</em> line of work? I find that hard to believe.” Theo pulled quickly and harshly, flaring the red embers and finishing off the last of his eighth cigarette.</p>
<p>“Potter.”</p>
<p>Theo stubbed out the end and fished for another one in the box beside the tray. “What.”</p>
<p>“What are you doing outside? Like this?”</p>
<p>"Hobie won’t let me smoke inside, you know that.”</p>
<p>“Potter, you are... <em>French Girl</em> on steps.”</p>
<p>Theo furrowed his eyebrows, looking at Boris with a short grunt of confusion. It took for Boris to pretend to drape himself sideways, a hand pretending to touch a <em>Heart of the Ocean</em> necklace for Theo to cough up a laugh.</p>
<p>“I technically half own this shop; I can be... moderately weird looking on my own front steps.” Theo spoke around the cigarette, his lips pursed and hands cupping around the end and his lighter.</p>
<p>“Potter, what is problem?”</p>
<p>What <em>was</em> his problem? Rather, when <em>wasn’t</em> there a problem? Why did Theo have to be so disagreeable? Absolutely nothing made him <em>relieved</em> anymore. Every day was... well, it was <em>nice</em>: waking up and getting an improved Las Vegas experience with Boris. But it was looked at from behind a glass, from behind a refusal really <em>be</em> present. Theo was waiting for <em>something</em> to give-- for someone else to disappear-- he just couldn’t settle. Theo was waiting... but he didn’t even know where to look to brace for impact.</p>
<p>It was far easier to just sit and smoke, completing one three-inch task at a time.</p>
<p>“I don’t have a problem.”</p>
<p>“You are terrible at lying. You know this, yes? Are aware cannot lie-- and cannot lie to <em>me</em> most?” Boris laughed. He moved the ashtray and sat on the step with Theo. “You fight with <em>Hoobie</em>?” He mispronounced.</p>
<p>“No, it’s not about him.” Theo pinched his cigarette between his knuckles. In his denial, he’d implied the only other man present.</p>
<p>“Is about me.” Boris said. He grabbed the cigarette from Theo’s fingers, quickly putting it between his lips-- almost with a smirk. “I have done <em>what</em> now?”</p>
<p>“No, no don’t say it like that.” Theo groaned, pushing himself up onto his elbows. “I’m not trying to start an argument with you.”</p>
<p>“Can talk about being annoyed without starting an argument.” Boris said with a laugh. “Is this why you and wife never worked out?”</p>
<p>“Ha ha. Hilarious.” Theo slouched back, his spine ribbing against the rough edge of the cement steps. As if his quick-drawn, slowly-shot temper was the reason he and Kitsey had severed the engagement. As <em>if</em> Boris didn’t know rightly well-- making smoke rings and looking pleased with himself-- what and <em>who</em> the real reason included. “<em>Asshole</em>.” Theo took the cigarette back from Boris after a long few minutes of hypnosis-- watching him pull his cheeks in and then shape the smoke in front of him. He’d smoke it down to the filter already.</p>
<p>Boris fiddled in his pockets for his lighter as he pulled another one from Theo’s pack. “So what is issue? It is me, Potter, I am not present for very little of your day-- and in that time, you have gotten upset. Tell me-- <em>ack fucking zapalniczka</em>-- Tell me what has happened to you.” His lighter finally caught and his eyes darted back to Theo’s face. The protected flame flickered and twinkled across his face.</p>
<p>“<em>To</em> me? Why am I the <em>object </em>of this? Why are things being <em>done</em> to me? What am I just some--” Boris blinked at Theo. He blew all the smoke from his first pull directly into Theo’s face. “Okay. So picking a fight about your English maybe isn’t the right angle here.”</p>
<p>"<em>Genialność</em>.”</p>
<p>“Sorry.” Theo toss his cigarette butt down and stomped on it. He ground the filter across the rough sidewalk. He expected it to smear, but the white fluff tore and webbed on the emerging bits of gravel.</p>
<p>“So you need to talk, yes? Willing to pick bone with my sentence-- empty fight.” Boris held out the cigarette. “Something is bothering you. Can see it in your shoulders. You do not sit right when you are upset-- angry? Is it anger, Potter?”</p>
<p>Was it? Was Theo <em>angry</em> at Boris-- or whatever it was about Boris that made Theo’s entire world brighten, but also feel that much darker when he wasn’t there to distract him. “No. I’m not angry at you.”</p>
<p>"It is about me.” Boris wasn’t offended or surprised. He was formulating an answer.</p>
<p>“No-- No, it’s not. I just said it wasn’t-- Boris, can’t you just drop it? I don’t want to fucking talk about this right now.” Theo pinched the cigarette between his thumb and forefinger.</p>
<p>“What is <em>this</em>? You have not said anything! Have just said <em>is not is not is not</em>. What is it!” Boris leaned his elbow on the step above him, leaning his body back but also closer to Theo. He lowered his voice and furrowed his eyebrows. “Potter, can tell me. Is it something that happen at work? People come in? Cause trouble?” Theo expected there to be a joke-- or at least the comic relief of Boris thinking someone held up the shop or robbed it. But, Boris was seriously only inquiring about anything out of the ordinary. Out of the realm of numbness.</p>
<p>Boris wanted to know about what made Theo feel-- and today, it was just the slow phases of waiting, bracing, denying. Maybe Boris was asking to hear about those <em>other </em>feelings too, but Theo couldn’t speak them <em>first</em>. Not before he thought they were real and lasting. The ground was just starting to feel sturdy under him.</p>
<p>“No trouble.” Theo said with a shrug. He passed Boris the cigarette again. Boris took it with a slow hand.</p>
<p>Theo remembered, when Boris coughed and sniffled shortly, again just how much Boris hated his brand of smokes.</p>
<p>Theo watched Boris place the innocently damp end of the cigarette between his own lips. The dryness of Boris’s lips stuck to the paper gently as he pulled it back out of his mouth, resting his arm over his knee. Theo licked his own lips-- not sure what he thought he’d taste.</p>
<p>“Hm.” Boris hummed. He paused before taking another drag. “Okay.”</p>
<p>Theo watched his mouth again, knowing the vitriol Boris held for the flavor, for the smell and feel of the paper, for everything but the man who always smoked them. Boris inhaled slower than Theo had been feeling all week; it was a strange feeling of solidarity. Of being seen in the dark, even when Boris wasn’t looking.</p>
<p>It was like Theo could know he’d always be found.</p>
<p>“I’m upset about you.” Theo said, swallowing the thickness in his throat.</p>
<p>“About? I do not understand-- <em>about</em> me?”</p>
<p>“About you-- about what... what we’re <em>doing</em>.” Theo rolled his eyes at his own immaturity. “It feels...” He clenched his jaw and Boris waited, waving his hand in a circular motion to egg him on. “It feels weird still. It feels weird and kind of... <em>weird</em>, okay? I-I don’t like it.”</p>
<p>“Do not like being with me?” Boris said with far too much neutrality for Theo’s comfort.</p>
<p>“No! Not <em>literally</em>, Boris. It’s like... It’s not supposed to be like this. Things like this don’t last forever.”</p>
<p>“Since when is that rule?”</p>
<p>“Since we’re both addicts that nearly got arrested for-- <em>God, </em>you name the crime.” Theo said dryly.</p>
<p>“You mean to say,” Boris coughed and pointed at Theo, handing him the cigarette back. He waved his smokey exhale away from Theo’s face. “we are two men that are not like people here.” He smoothly moved his hand over and waved at the sidewalk. It was a surprisingly acute summation of Theo’s unarticulated turmoil. Theo blinked quickly.</p>
<p>"I don’t want it to crumble under me.” Theo muttered. “I can’t have that happen again... First my mom and then the Barbours and then my dad and then the Barbours <em>again</em> and--” Theo accidentally sighed before he was ready to exhale his smoke. “I just want one good thing to last, you know?”</p>
<p>Boris nudged Theo’s hand. At first Theo thought he wanted the cigarette, until he felt another gentle graze of Boris’s fingertips over the inside of his wrist, warm and slightly sticky.</p>
<p>“I know.” Boris said quietly. “Will last as long as we need it to.”</p>
<p>“What if I want that to be forever? Does that make me-- I don’t know? Does that ruin it?” It ruined it. It definitely ruined it. To want something to outlive it’s expiration date? To claw out one more year when the sun and gone down--</p>
<p>“No.” Boris grabbed Theo’s hand, looking as if he was catching him from falling. “Because I want end of time too. Want us to be dying or dead before we give up on what it is we share.”</p>
<p>The touch-- public and openly intimate without any confusion-- scared Theo. “Either way, you know I’ll find you in Hell anyway.” He diverted.</p>
<p>“Pfft, as if I am not going to Heaven.” Boris laughed, leaning in and gently pushing on Theo’s arm. “Have done great service-- gone all over God’s green earth for <em>pure</em> great things in life. I am good person! Straight to Heaven!”</p>
<p>"Promise to bring me with you?” It was hollow wish, asking to go to Heaven. Theo knew the futility of impossibility.  It was nice to know Boris would be with his mom though--</p>
<p>“Potter, is no question. You are going to be with me.”</p>
<p>Even in death, even beyond his realm of <em>knowing</em>, Boris was so certain. Maybe he knew something Theo didn’t. Wouldn’t be the first time.</p>
<p>Theo wondered if Boris knew everything Theo did-- everything he was thinking, in that moment and always.</p>
<p>“Thank you.” Theo put out his cigarette on the railing, sitting up straight finally.</p>
<p>“Why? Have not said anything that is not basic fact. No need to thank me.”</p>
<p>“Thank you... for this moment of, uh, <em>Heaven</em>, I guess.”</p>
<p>“Will give to you any time. Am always yours.” The sincerity pushed down on Theo’s shoulders, slowing him down but if only to be able to wade in the moment. It was warm in a way his prickling fingertips could not be.</p>
<p>As Boris pushed himself up to stand-- and turned to help Theo do the same-- Theo licked his lips, still trying to taste the same nicotine and hesitation he could see glossing the swell of Boris’s bottom lip. It wasn’t time to know then what it tasted like. Later. Theo would find out-- <em>ask</em>-- when they were quiet, safely together, tucked under the awning of the basement door.</p>
<p>Bitter and sour, but pulling Theo with a taunting sweetness. Coarse under Theo’s fingers, but familiar to thread between them. All with heavy smoke circling their clothes that looked a whole lot like clouds in the bright shine of afternoon. Heaven that followed them wherever they went. Heaven that <em>was</em> them.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>
  <a href="https://weltonreject.tumblr.com/post/620198951855013888/twenty-two-ways">post on my tgf blog</a>
</p></blockquote></div></div>
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